It was over two years ago now that I found out I’d have Fallon. I’ll never forget how my heart soared with excitement.
A girl. My first girl.
After two boys it’d be grand, simple—this whole girl thing. I even got excited about brushing the long locks she’d eventually grow for me. I would raise her how I was raised, none of that prissy stuff or high-pitched screams. A simple life. A simple girl.
She came to us and I couldn’t wait to see how she’d be different from those boys I was so accustomed to. I felt blessed seeing I got those rough and tumble men first, their ways often harder and more difficult to rear—at least that’s what I’d been told. This girl would be a walk in the park. Even better than that—a slow and enjoyable stroll! She was going to simply lay and bask in my motherly greatness. I couldn’t wait.
I should’ve known.
What we have growing in this house is definitely of the female gender but many days I am left guessing her species, her make, her model.
She climbs like a monkey, prances like a filly. She’s curious as a puppy, loud like the slapping of a beaver’s tail on water.
She prowls like a lion and roars just the same. She’s fast, many times outsmarting and outrunning me, kicking her heels up as if to mock me. Her stubbornness and strong will match that of any donkey or mule and I am often left pulling an imaginary lead line, sweaty and depleted of my own strength. Her pain tolerance outlasts that of my pit bull and the fearless personality has even her older brother’s amazed while Graham and I fall on our knees praying for her safety.
Beady eyes search like a hawk looking for the smallest object to touch, grab, eat, destroy. She may be as small as a cat, but she demands attention, respect and admiration for all she contributes to this home.
Which is actually quite a lot.
She has taught me more than the boys ever have about patience and love and being a good mom. Most days I am barely hanging on—to her, to life, to this home. But I am still hanging and while I hang I am learning what truly matters in life.
It’s not that I got all the crumbs swept up from the night before. Or the beds made, or laundry done or the bathrooms cleaned. I must admit I am guilty at times of letting all that become what makes me a good mom, a good wife.
In my heart I know the biggest and most important job I have in Fallon’s life right now is to keep her safe, alive, keep her from killing herself. Somehow I feel if I write this down it will penetrate deeper, take hold.
So while I chase her, instruct her, discipline her, love her; I know I just have to keep a good perspective. This is such a short season—these young one’s at home, needy and growing. Most importantly, the Lord IS here with me through my inadequacies, my fear, my faint and weary heart.
When those hawk eyes glare back at me ready to pierce, or her hooves kick in rebellion, her voice roaring her warnings, I just have to ask Him to show up—and He does!